In the stars is written the death of every man.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERIn the stars is written the death of every man.
GEOFFREY CHAUCEROne flesh they are; and one flesh, so I’d guess, Has but one heart, come grief or happiness.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERIf gold rust, what then will iron do? For if a priest be foul in whom we trust/ No wonder that a common man should rust.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERLook up on high, and thank the God of all.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERWith empty hands men may no hauks lure.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERAnd gladly would he learn and gladly teach.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERForbid us something, and that thing we desire.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERYet do not miss the moral, my good men. For Saint Paul says that all that’s written well Is written down some useful truth to tell. Then take the wheat and let the chaff lie still.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERWith empty hand no man can lure a hawk.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERWoe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERIf love be good, from whence cometh my woe?
GEOFFREY CHAUCERBut Christ’s lore and his apostles twelve, He taught and first he followed it himself.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERGreat peace is found in little busy-ness.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERMy house is small, but you are learned men And by your arguments can make a place Twenty foot broad as infinite as space.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERIn April the sweet showers fall And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all The veins are bathed in liquor of such power As brings about the engendering of the flower.
GEOFFREY CHAUCERMany small make a great.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER